


A Simple Trading Mission

by facetofcathy



Series: 2008 Kink Bingo Blackout [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: 1000-3000 words, Collars, Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-24
Updated: 2008-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facetofcathy/pseuds/facetofcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where it begins; John has a strong reaction to the requirements of a trading partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Trading Mission

It had been a long time since John had done a simple trading mission. He couldn't shake the pre-mission tension more appropriate to a more serious trip through the gate. He checked his vest pocket that held his extra ammo clip for the third time. Rodney lifted a brow at him but checked the action on his own sidearm again. There was no such thing as a simple trading mission, no matter how many times Major Lorne's team had been to the planet. No matter how peaceful and orderly the place, and no matter that they'd agreed they didn't need Ronon or Teyla something could always go wrong. John looked up when the door to the locker room swished open. Major Lorne stepped inside, took a quick look around, and let the door close behind him. He reached behind with his left hand and placed it flat against the door. The fingers of his right hand twitched against the blue of his cast when the snick of the door lock sounded loud in the room.

"Major," John said.

"Colonel," Lorne responded. "You know how some things never make it into the mission reports."

"Here it comes," Rodney said, pulling out his sidearm again and ejecting the clip and examining it closely.

"Major?" John said again, with a hint of warning in his tone.

"Aslan is exactly as advertised, peaceful, safe. We've been there a dozen times now, plus everyone wants more rivka and ketka fruit. It'll be a simple mission and a really good meal – they always want to feed you." Lorne looked pensive.

"Major, you didn't lock us in here to tell us how nice it's going to be. Spill." Rodney punctuated this instruction with the snap of the clip sliding home in his sidearm. He thrust the gun into his holster. Lorne followed the move with his eyes.

"They have an interesting social structure. They only do business with a certain kind of people. The first time we went there, we were a little closer to desperate for food and allies. We allowed them to assume we shared the same values."

"We allowed them to assume," Rodney mimicked Lorne's careful tone. "A well turned phrase, worthy of the boardroom, Major. Clearly you missed your calling. Cut to the chase." Rodney was tapping his hand nervously against his holster.

"Fine, Doctor. In order for the Aslan people to trade with Colonel Sheppard, you'll have to wear this." Lorne pulled an object out of his pocket and extended it to Rodney.

Rodney picked the object up and uncurled it. John looked at it for a long time then turned to Lorne and opened his mouth.

Lorne cut him off, "Dr. Parrish objected to having this one detail go in the mission report. Under the circumstances, I couldn't blame him."

John turned back to Rodney in time to see him stuff the thing into his vest pocket. "I just have to wear it? Nothing else?" He asked Lorne.

"That's all." Lorne slipped back out the door before John could think to try to speak again.

"Colonel, some time today. Lorne did say they were going to feed us." Rodney was beside the door and was actually tapping his foot.

"Fine. Just fine." John said as he snapped his P-90 into place and followed Rodney into the gateroom.

They stepped through the gate into mid afternoon sunshine. Rodney did his usual check with his scanner while John scanned the empty flat countryside the old-fashioned way, hoping for something to go horribly wrong so they could dial Atlantis, and just go back home. John's attention was caught by Rodney's silence, and he turned around. Rodney had the thing dangling obscenely off one finger.

"You're going to have to put it on me. It's designed so that you have to see what you're doing to work the buckle." Rodney tilted his chin up in a gesture John had seen a thousand times.

"You're not embarrassed by this. Why aren't you embarrassed by this?" John fisted his hand to keep himself from reaching out and touching the thing.

Rodney titled his head and studied John for a long time. "Why are you?"

John just stared at him. He firmly believed some questions didn't have answers.

"Come on Colonel, or do you want to go back and explain to Carter just why you failed to complete a simple trading mission?"

John reached forward and snatched the thing out of Rodney's hand. He examined it for a moment, turning it around in hands that did not shake and figured out how to adjust it.

"Never noticed what a pencil neck Parrish is," Rodney said.

John huffed out a laugh and looked up. Rodney had his chin up again. John stepped forward, slipped the thing around Rodney's neck and pulled the end through the complicated buckle.

"Snug but not constricting is what you're aiming for," Rodney told him.

John was going to make a smart remark about Rodney the expert but it died on his tongue. He tightened the thing and stepped back.

Rodney felt around the edge, tugging the thing into place to suit himself and tilted his chin up again. "Surprisingly comfortable for such primitive manufacture," he said, and then set off down the well-worn path to the Aslan trading post.

John walked behind him, eyes never straying for long from the strip of black leather that peaked over the collar of Rodney's jacket.

It really was a simple trading mission. The head merchant asked after Major Lorne, expressed his sympathies over the broken arm, and cut a quick deal for the next year's supply of fruit. He looked John right in the eye, never once acknowledged Rodney, and then told them to be his guests at the food stalls.

"I want to look around first and then food," Rodney stated. "You'll have to come with me. I don't think anyone will talk to me."

"We have what we came for, we're heading for the gate." John turned to go.

Rodney shot out a hand and stopped him with a hard grip on his arm. "No we are not. One, we are expected to accept the merchant's hospitality. Even I paid enough attention at the briefing to hear that. Two, there's something at one of those stalls over there that looks like a power crystal. Three, that tantalising smell coming from the food stalls is pit BBQ. We're staying."

John sighed and followed Rodney, feeling the imprint of Rodney's fingers on his arm long after they were gone. Rodney examined the crystal, declared it burnt out, and then led John on a meandering path through the market. John kept his hands on his P-90 and tried not to stare at the people wearing leather collars around their necks. Most of them went about their business with their heads bent forward and their eyes downcast. John thought they looked pathetic, cowed and submissive, and they made him very uncomfortable. He looked up to see Rodney watching him. A smile curved his crooked mouth, and his chin was tilted up again. He led the way through the rest of the market pausing to examine the goods offered by a leather worker. John glanced at the array of tanned and tooled leather and then looked a little closer, eyes wide. Aslan seemed to be the place for buying esoteric leather wears. Rodney was looking at him again with the same half smile on his face.

"Food," Rodney said decisively, now that they'd exhausted the market's potential.

John followed him, and they ended up at a sort of open-air tavern. A silent collared man brought them meat and bread and a pitcher of something that smelled like flowers and tasted sort of like beer.

"We ever let Dr. De Keersmaeker near this place, we'll never see him again," Rodney said around a mouth full of meat. John started to tell Rodney he really didn't want to know any more details about anyone's kinks when Rodney grinned at him and explained that the beer tasted like Belgian lambic. John considered asking what the hell that was but decided that enduring a Rodney the expert lecture right now was a bad idea.

John stood up as soon as Rodney had cleared his plate. "We're going," he said, and for once Rodney didn't argue.

They shared a quiet walk back to the gate with Rodney taking point and John following. When the DHD came in sight, John said, "Dial the gate."

Rodney touched one finger to the first chevron and then turned to face John. He didn't say anything; he just touched the same finger to the leather around his neck. John flushed with embarrassment at his lapse and stepped closer to work the buckle so he could take the thing off. Rodney caught his wrists in his hands and held them still. His lips curved into a knowing smile, nearly a smirk. "You're not embarrassed John, you're turned on. Really turned on, aren't you?"

"No," John said, and then, "Let go."

"You could get away from me if you wanted to John, and I don't believe you by the way. You are mesmerized by this, have been all day." Rodney let go of his wrists. "Also, to answer your earlier question, I'm not embarrassed because this isn't the first time I've worn something like this."

John was resolutely not thinking about that. He stepped back again gaining some much-needed distance. "No," he said, not sure what he was denying.

"Yes," Rodney said to him, quietly implacable, brooking no argument. "Touch it."

John's hand jerked up.

Rodney unclipped his P-90 and set it on the ground. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and let it fall. The black leather band stood out between the collar of his black tee shirt and his up tilted chin, stark against his pale neck the way the black leather jacket was. The jacket that looked so good on Rodney. John clenched his fingers on his own P-90.

"Touch it," Rodney said again.

John slid his fingers to the clip of his P-90, and then set the weapon carefully on the ground. He took a firm step forward and raised both hands. His hands shook, and blood roared in his ears. His heart was pounding, and his brain was screaming a thousand things, but he ignored all that and did what he was told. He did what he wanted to do. He reached out and touched the leather collar. He slid his hands around to the back of Rodney's neck, fingers fanning out to slide along hot skin and stutter through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. The leather was warm, body warm and supple. Rodney's pulse was pounding through the leather against John's thumb. John made a hungry sound.

"Yes," Rodney said, "yes, yes, yes," as if John had asked him a question.

John had his mouth then, between one thought and the next. Rodney tasted like BBQ and the strange flowery beer. John thrust into his mouth almost brutally, but Rodney just sucked on his tongue and reached a hand down to squeeze John's cock. John jerked back ripping his mouth away from Rodney's. Rodney smiled a slow insolent smile. John's hand shot out and grabbed the ring on the front of the collar. He pulled, and Rodney stumbled forward. "On your knees, Rodney," John said, not recognizing the harsh rasp of his own voice.

Rodney smiled wider and liked his lips. "My pleasure," he said in a deep purring voice, smug, and full of anticipation both. Rodney jerked his head back, tugging at John's hold on the collar and when John reluctantly let go, Rodney slid to the dirt. He ripped John's belt open, popped the buttons of his fly and, none too gently pulled John's cock free. He fisted the shaft in a firm hand and licked at the head with hard sweeps of his tongue.

"Jesus God, Rodney, suck me already," John said when he realized he was allowed to say something like that, that he was supposed to.

Rodney laughed, low and dirty and took him in and sucked hard. It felt like an electric current was shooting through John's body. He reached his hand around Rodney's neck until his fingers rested against the leather collar, and his thumb slid along the stretched skin of Rodney's cheek, rasping against stubble. The rest of John's senses failed him then. The empty meadow faded into white; the heat of the sun burned to ice. He had Rodney, hot and wet around his cock, leather soft and warm against his hand, and nothing else was real. Rodney hummed around his cock, and John locked his knees, feeling his orgasm taking his body. He thought to give Rodney a warning, a chance to pull away, but the words that came out of his mouth were, "Take it, yeah. Swallow it down."

Rodney did that very thing and then licked John's softening cock clean until John had to find the strength to push him away. Then John had to brace himself against Rodney's shoulder to keep from falling down. He gathered enough wit finally to notice that Rodney had been busy with his free hand while John had been lost in his mouth. Rodney's pants gaped open, and the dirt between John's feet was dark with streaks of come. John noticed a suspicious smear on his boot.

Rodney followed his gaze, and he glared up at John, hot blue eyes snapping over his swollen pink mouth. "Do not even think about it."


End file.
